Better When He's Brave

I made small talk with a couple of patrol cops that stopped by my table to ask about the shootout at the club. In particular they wanted to know how “Honor” was doing. Keelyn had a place in the hearts of many single and lonely guys in the city, so I told them she was doing okay. She had taken a bullet to the chest and another one had caught her in the shoulder and lodged in the bone. She was a mess and she had lost way too much blood and required surgery, but she was awake now and she was pissed off. According to Nassir, who was blowing up my phone demanding any information I had on Roark, she had quit and told him she was leaving the Point. Nassir seemed to think she was just blowing smoke, but I wasn’t so sure. Keelyn had been in the gutter since the beginning. I wouldn’t blame her if she was ready for some new scenery, and I saw the way Nassir had freaked out when he caught sight of her bleeding on the floor. She might have been able to stay out of his clutches so far, but eventually he would wear her down. That would mean she was going to be stuck here in this place, with him, forever. I recognized the way he looked at her. He wanted to possess her.

The waitress dropped the food in front of me just as I heard the roar of Bax’s Hemi ’Cuda coming from blocks away. That car was a beast. It was louder, faster, and meaner than mine. I totally had motor envy. My little brother was a magician when it came to old muscle cars. What he could do to them was art. The patrol cops nodded in appreciation and got shiny eyes of envy when I mentioned it was Bax’s ride making all that noise. It was ingrained in male DNA to get a little bit of a hard-on when a car sounded as powerful and badass as the Hemi did. The GTO was prime but I wouldn’t put it up against Bax’s ride because my ego couldn’t handle getting shown up.

I was spewing facts about horsepower and torque when one of the guys made a strange face and pointed out the window. My heart immediately stopped because the last time someone did that in this diner Race’s car was on fire in the parking lot. Another unforgettable calling card from Roark.

“What?”

“I dunno. A garbage truck just went flying up the street. It’s not trash day in this part of town and it looked like it was in a hurry.”

I didn’t hear the rest of the sentence. My ears were ringing as I scrambled out of the booth and pushed past both the uniformed cops who were standing by the entrance. I hit the door just as the sound of tires squealing and the screech of metal on metal drowned out every other sound and made my ears ring. Several of the other diner patrons had followed me out, but I was oblivious to everything but my brother’s car, which was crumpled in an unrecognizable heap under the heavy front end of a massive garbage truck.

I heard screaming and the sound of people calling for help, but I didn’t realize it was me until my hands hit the metal as I tried to pull the collapsed driver’s-side door open to get to Bax.

“Shane!” I was pulling and pulling but the metal wasn’t moving and neither was Bax. He was folded over, his shaved head resting on the twisted steering wheel. Blood was streaming all across his face and out of the ear that was turned my way. It didn’t look like he was breathing, and I was about to shove my fist through the still-intact window when a set of hands clasped around me and tried to pull me back. The skin on the palms of my hands ripped away and my own blood left gory tracks on the metal as I continued to scream Bax’s name, desperate for any kind of response, any sign of life or movement.

I turned around and without a second thought swung at the cop that was trying to pull me back. “That’s my brother in there!”

My little brother in a car that looked like a tuna can.

My little brother who was bleeding way too much and not moving.

My little brother who had survived every single shitty thing life had thrown at him and had finally found some good in his life.

My little brother who was finally recognizing that he had people that cared about him, so he needed to care about himself.

I would move the garbage truck with my bare hands if I had to.

“Detective, the first responders have the Jaws of Life. We’re gonna need to cut him out.”

I slammed my fist into the window and called Bax’s name again. He still didn’t move. I let myself be dragged backward as the firefighters surrounded the car. While I was trying to bend metal with my bare hands, paramedics and my fellow cops, as well as an entire fleet of firefighters, had arrived on the scene. I started barking orders, telling anyone that would listen to go look for whoever had been driving the truck. I knew Roark was behind it. I had no idea how he knew where Bax would be, or how he had gotten his hands on a massive battering ram like the trash truck, but I knew it was him. And I was going to annihilate him when I finally got my hands on him.

Metal groaned and screamed in protest as they worked to pull Bax free. I moved forward and kept getting pulled back. It felt like it had taken a lifetime even if only a few moments had gone by, when the car door suddenly popped open and Bax’s big body slumped out. He looked worse not surrounded by the protective shell of the ’Cuda. I could see one of his legs was really messed up. I could also see that his chest was indeed moving, but slowly and laboriously. I rubbed my hands over my face and tried not to lose it. I didn’t even care that I was smearing blood all over myself from my torn hands.

“I need to call his girlfriend.”

Dovie was going to freak out. Rightfully so. With all the dangerous and dirty stuff Bax messed around in, here it was a car accident that was going to have him fighting for his life. It was so unfair I was choking on it and couldn’t see around it. I fumed as the paramedics strapped him down and started rolling him toward the waiting ambulance. I had never seen my brother look so fragile or so helpless. That included when he was just a little kid and I had to explain to him that I was moving out, leaving him to fend for himself because there was no other way. He looked broken and it was making everything inside of me howl with the need to do something, to seek some kind of retribution. I never considered myself the vengeful type. I put too much stock in the law and justice for that, but right now all I wanted was revenge. I wanted to bury Roark in a casket of metal and pain just like he had done to Bax.